


Paved with Good Intentions

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Gen, Hugs, Reunions, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Jason doesn't intend for any of this to happen.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 19
Kudos: 153
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	Paved with Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RayByAnotherName](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayByAnotherName/gifts).



> AU for _Red Hood: The Lost Days_ and set before that whole Blockbuster mess in _Nightwing_. 
> 
> Thanks to L. for the encouragement and to S. for looking it over.

Jason doesn't intend to spend the day at the Louvre. But then, he didn't intend any of this, and yet here he is, staring at a really depressing Caravaggio while Talia's kid hangs off his arm and lectures him about art.

He tunes back in as Damian is saying, "...and the use of shadow and light is masterful." Damian tugs his hand. "Are you listening, akhi?"

"English, Damian. We're trying to blend in with the American tourists, remember?"

Damian scowls, which is kind of adorable, even though he sounds like a cranky fifty-year-old professor. "I don't see a need for this charade. Surely our target isn't here among these poorly dressed university students."

"Infiltration is an important skill, Damian. You need to take it seriously." The words are out before he can even consider what he's saying, and Jason frowns. He's right, of course, but he hadn't realized how much of his training with Bruce still lingers, how he's parroting Bruce's words even now. Jason's always sworn he wouldn't turn into Willis Todd, but he doesn't intend to turn into Bruce, either. He's going to be Batman someday, but he's going to be better than Bruce.

The back of Jason's neck prickles, interrupting his reverie, and he tenses. "There's a bench over there, Damian. Why don't you make a sketch. Your dad'll love that."

Damian scoffs but heads to the bench and opens his sketchbook. Jason doesn't have a lot of ready cash—he wasn't intending to shepherd Damian around Paris before they headed to the airport—but he's glad he spent some of it on the sketchbook and pencils. Damian's only eight but he's already a talented artist. 

Jason drifts closer to the painting and out of the crowd he's been using as camouflage. His gun isn't easily accessible—he really hadn't thought he'd need it in the Louvre, of all places—but he's got a knife up his sleeve, in case it's one of the League's goon shadowing him, instead of one of the babysitters Talia's sent after them, as if she doesn't trust him to get the kid where she wants him to go. It would hurt except Jason's already had second and third thoughts about doing what she's asked and he and Damian have only been together for two days.

He doesn't have to wait long for their stalker to make a move. Whoever it is eases closer on soft-soled shoes, making just enough noise that Jason can hear them coming. And then he's hit with the familiar scent of cologne and hair gel and his breath catches in his throat.

"You're from Gotham, right? Me, too." Dick's voice is light, chummy. If Jason didn't know any any better, he'd say it was _flirty._ "It's nice to see a friendly face so far from home."

Jason thickens his accent theatrically. Sarcastically. "If you're really from Gotham, you know there ain't no friendly faces there." Then he half turns towards Dick, giving him his best Crime Alley side-eye and mentally steeling himself for a glimpse Dick's stupid, pretty face. Of course Dick looks good. Water is wet and Dick looks good. It's annoying and eternal. "What the actual fuck, Dick?" He punctuates it so each word is its own sentence. For emphasis. Alfred would be proud. Except for the cursing.

Dick stumbles back a step, shock stealing his usual grace. " _Jason_?"

"In the resurrected flesh."

"Akhi, is this peasant troubling you?"

Dammit, he'd forgotten about Damian for a second. He and Dick turn in unison to find Damian looking up at them with narrowed eyes. 

"No, Damian, this is Dick Grayson." Jason can't help the sharp grin that curves his lips. "He's your older brother."

To Jason's disappointment, Dick takes this shocking pronouncement with a lot more aplomb than he did seeing Jason. Then again, finding out your dead brother is still alive is probably a lot harder to take than finding out you've got a little brother you never knew about. Jason's certainly had a lot harder time with the former than the latter.

"Damian," Dick says, his grin a lot friendlier than Jason's, and probably ninety-eight percent genuine. "Little brother!" His grin gets even wider and his eyes light up. "Little D! It's so nice to meet you."

Damian gives Dick a narrow-eyed once-over that makes Jason bite back a snicker. Right up until he speaks. "Tt. This is the circus brat?"

"Hey now, none of that," Jason warns. "We talked about this."

"You talked about it," Damian says with a sniff. "I didn't agree. As Father's blood son, I will take precedence, of course."

Dick's face journey is _amazing_ , and the fact that he's letting them see it is...it means something, Jason's sure. He just doesn't know what. Not yet, anyway.

"Well, as the oldest, let me welcome you to the family." Then he catches Jason's eye over Damian's head and mouths, "What the hell?" 

Jason gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "Let's go someplace we can talk."

Dick nods and shepherds them to the coat-check, where they pick up their backpacks, and then out into the street.

Dick slides his sunglasses on while Jason's still squinting at the late afternoon sunshine, and says, "I've been staying at a youth hostel—"

"B finally fire you, too?" Jason asks, too bitter to sound joking.

Dick shoots him a sharp glance he can feel even through the designer shades, but his voice is mild when he says, "I'm joining up with Haly's in Marseille next week, and I wanted to avoid the paps."

Jason nods grudgingly. "Cool story, bro."

"But Bruce has a small apartment on the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis that we could use."

Jason's stomach rumbles then and Dick laughs. "Food first, though. There's a little bistro on the way that's got amazing steak frites."

"We're in Paris, Dick. Isn't that a requirement?"

"I guess maybe it is."

Dick keeps the conversation light and general, while they eat—Jason has to admit, the steak is definitely amazing; he can't remember the last time he ate something so perfectly cooked—asking Damian about the art they saw and what he likes best to draw. Damian holds forth on the Old Masters and then lectures them about George Stubbs on the way to the apartment. He also stops to pet every stray cat and dog they pass, reminding Jason that though he sounds like an old man, he's still a little boy.

Dick's been with them the whole time, so Jason hasn't had a chance to talk to Damian yet about what meeting him means, but it also means Dick hasn't had a chance yet to let Bruce know that Jason's alive, or that Damian's with him. Dick hasn't even taken his phone out once, which is probably supposed to put Jason at ease, but it just makes him more suspicious.

There are no visible cameras in the apartment Dick takes them to, just a lot of monochrome, Scandinavian furniture. But then, there wouldn't be. Jason still keeps his head down. He's suddenly grateful he hasn't had time to get a haircut; his bangs flop annoyingly over his eyes but they'll make facial recognition harder. Still, unless Bruce calls Superman, there's no way he can be here in less than four hours, even in the Batplane, so Jason lets himself relax a little. They've been up since oh-dark-thirty after two nights of minimal sleep and he's starting to feel it. 

He's not the only one—Damian's eyes are drooping and he looks like he's fighting a yawn.

"Why don't you sack out in the bedroom?" Jason says softly while Dick's in the kitchen, getting them glasses of water. 

"I'm not a child," Damian whispers hotly. "You can't just send me to bed as though it's not my mission, too."

Jason darts a glance at Dick, who gives him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Jason hates to admit it, but he's relieved. It'll be easier to have the discussion without Damian present. He's a good kid, for all that he's been raised to become a ninja and leader of the League of Assassins, but he's also eight and hot-headed and on his own with relative strangers. He might insist that he's not a child, but Jason can see he's heading for a meltdown. 

"Ah, about that," Jason starts, and then stops, unsure of where to go from there.

"There is no mission, is there," Damian says matter-of-factly, disappointment flashing across his face before it reverts to his more customary annoyance.

Jason sighs. "Not exactly, no. Your mission is to get some sleep so you can be ready to leave in the morning."

"Fine. I will awake in four hours to take the second watch, akhi." He shoots Dick a suspicious glance. "I will have my sword, so don't try anything." Then he stumps off to the bedroom like the world's tiniest curmudgeon.

Jason settles on the sofa and braces himself for the onslaught of Dick's questions. Dick surprises him though. He sits on the other end of the sofa and says, "Can I have a hug, Little Wing?"

"What?"

"Don't look so surprised." Dick's expression is pained. Sad. "You were dead and now somehow you're not. We missed you."

Jason wants to deny that, to yell at him and call him a liar, but _Dick's_ not the one who put a new Robin out on the street while Jason was crawling his way out of his grave. And it's been a long time since someone hugged him. A long time. He's not sure he can even remember it.

"Okay," he says warily, and then Dick is wrapping him up in a hug that would feel suffocating if it wasn't so genuine. Dick still smells the same—Jason had recognized him immediately in the museum, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine for one brief moment that nothing's changed. It has, of course it has, but Jason lets himself cling to Dick for as long as Dick allows it and only pulls back when it gets embarrassing. He hadn't expected his teenage crush to outlast death and resurrection, but apparently it has.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you," Dick says, and his eyes are suspiciously bright.

"What?" Jason repeats. This is not at all how he thought this reunion would go. 

"I wasn't even on the planet," Dick says, "but also, I clearly didn't make you feel safe enough to call when you needed help, or just someone to talk to. I—"

"Dick," Jason interrupts, because he can't do this right now, or possibly ever. "Dick, stop. Nothing that happened to me was your fault, so shut the fuck up before you piss me off." He'd never expected Dick to come for him while he was waiting in that warehouse for that bomb to go off, but he remembers wishing for the possibility, in the final moments when reality had sunk in and he realized Bruce wasn't going to make it it time to save him. He shakes his head to dispel the memory.

Dick blinks at him and swallows hard. "Okay. Okay. So. What happened?"

"I'm honestly surprised you haven't already drawn blood for the DNA test," Jason says. 

"There's time for that later," Dick answers dismissively. "Damian—He's Talia's, right?"

"And Bruce's, yeah."

"Then obviously a Lazarus pit is involved somewhere." Dick waves a hand. "I'm sure Bruce will have a thousand different tests for you but I'm just going to bask in the fact that you're alive. How are you alive? And why is Damian with you?"

It's Jason's turn to swallow hard past the dryness in his throat. "I don't know." He shakes his head. "I don't know, Dick. One day, I just woke up in my coffin. I dug my way out."

Dick turns green at that, and Jason doesn't blame him. He wants to throw up every time he thinks about it. Dick leans in to hug him again and Jason lets him.

"I don't remember much. It was nighttime. There was a storm. I was on the street for a while, I think. From what Talia says, one of her lackeys found me and brought me to her."

"On the street? In Gotham?" Dick's using that gentle voice they all learned to use with victims and kids, and Jason wants to be annoyed at being handled, but he's also shocked and grateful to be treated gently for once. Still, he pulls back out of the hug. He doesn't want to start crying.

"Yeah. Full circle, I guess. I don't remember much. I was still—" He twirls a finger near his ear. "Talia says I was getting better, but Ra's had reached the end of his patience, so in order to keep him from killing me, she shoved me in a pit and then sent me away." He leaves out the part where she sent him to train with various killers and scumbags, and what he did to them when he was done. Dick will find out soon enough and he'll go back to being exiled, but for now, he just wants to bask in Dick's warmth.

"And Damian?"

"Two nights ago, Talia barged into my motel room, shoved the kid at me with a backpack full of his worldly possessions—he really does have a katana—and asked me to take him to Bruce. I think she's making her move on Ra's and doesn't want Damian used against her." Jason leans back against the cushions. "Actually, _you_ could take him to Bruce and I could go back to what I was doing."

"And what was that?" Dick asks, always sharper than people expect him to be. That pretty face always makes people underestimate him, and Jason curses himself silently for falling into the same trap.

Jason smirks. "Training."

"Look, I don't know—Bruce has never said what happened between you two. But you have to come home, Jay. You don't know what losing you did to him. It broke something inside him, I think. He hasn't been the same since."

"But he's got a new Robin, doesn't he? Was I even cold in the ground before he replaced me?" Jason can't help snarling.

"It wasn't like that," Dick replies. "You were gone and Bruce was—He was off the rails, Jay. If Tim—the new Robin—hadn't stepped in, I don't know what would have happened."

Jason clenches his jaw, biting back more angry words, and forces himself to breathe. "Of course you defend him. Always the favorite son." He shakes his head and stands up. He can grab Damian and go back to the squat he found near the Gare du Nord. He can put Damian in a cab to the airport and head back to Ljubljana to finish what he was doing. 

"Hey," Dick says, dropping the gentle voice. "You weren't the only Robin he replaced, you know."

"You didn't still have the job when he gave it to me." Jason doesn't yell—Damian doesn't need to hear them fighting—but it's a close thing.

"It was _my name_ ," Dick snaps. " _My_ family's colors. And he didn't even consult me."

"Yeah, your made-up superhero name. Whatever, Dick. Cry me a river. It's not the same."

"It's the nickname my mother gave me." Dick's voice is low and hard and a little broken.

Jason sucks in a surprised breath. "Your mother?"

"She used to call me her little Robin, because I was born on the first day of spring."

"I didn't—Bruce never said."

"No, of course he didn't. So don't talk to me about him giving the name away without consulting you." Dick closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. "You weren't _there_. It turns out, Batman _needs_ Robin, and without you, someone had to step in. I couldn't go back to it, so Tim stepped forward." He drops his hand and huffs a soft laugh. "You'd like him, too. He's smart as a whip. Nerdy, like you, but like, with computers instead of books. He made B watch _Star Trek_."

" _Next Generation_?" Jason asks, despite himself. He'd watched it with Alfred, who claimed to have known Patrick Stewart back in the day.

Dick shakes his head. " _Deep Space Nine_. And then they talked about it all the time."

"That one's good too," Jason allows, though he hasn't seen all of it.

"Come home, Jay. Not just to drop Damian off, but for good."

"I don't know, man. I don't—"

"Doesn't Alfred deserve to see you? And Babs? You should see what Babs is up to now. She's the best of us."

"She always was," Jason says, slumping back down onto the couch. He was tired before he got here and now he's exhausted. Emotions are hard and he would like to stop feeling so many of them so much. He doesn't—he can't think of Alfred, and how much he's missed him, how he aches to see him. It's not Alfred's fault, either, even if he'd agreed with Bruce about taking Robin away.

"Why don't you sleep on it?"

Jason rubs a hand over his eyes, which feel gritty from lack of sleep. "Yeah, okay. But no promises."

"No promises," Dick agrees, leaning in to hug him again. "But I know you'll make the right choice, Little Wing."

"Shut up. Dick." But Jason accepts the hug.

"That's my name, don't wear it out." Dick gives him a megawatt grin and Jason has to laugh.

"Oh my god, stop. Why are you like this?" 

"Why would I not be like this? You love it."

"Shut up," Jason mumbles, face heating embarrassingly. He grabs his bag and roots through it so he doesn't have to look Dick in the eye. He pulls out a pair of boxers to sleep in and a toothbrush. "I'm going to sleep now. You'll still be here in the morning?"

Dick's smile is smaller now and softer somehow. "I think that's my line, but yes. I'll be here. Try not to get stabbed by the mini-ninja. I don't want to have to explain to Bruce—and Alfred!—that I found you and then got you killed again."

Jason snorts a very undignified laugh. "Night, Dick."

"Night, Jay. See you in the morning."

"Yeah." 

Jason closes the door to the bathroom and leans against it, completely drained. He's not sure he's going to make it through the night with Dick in the other room, let alone all the way back to Gotham, but he intends to try.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: Dick finds Jason post-lazarus pit, pre-murderous rampage and tries to help him. Can be shippy or brotherly.


End file.
